


Tint

by SemiStableMercenary



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, Dysphoria, Fake AH Crew, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Jeremy-centric, M/M, Multi, Open to Interpretation, The relationship tagged can be interpreted as platonic, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-24
Updated: 2019-01-24
Packaged: 2019-10-15 14:54:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17530838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SemiStableMercenary/pseuds/SemiStableMercenary
Summary: Jeremy is drowning, crushed under the weight of the world, until suddenly he isn't.





	Tint

**Author's Note:**

> This is able to be interpreted any number of ways, but the basic idea is that Jeremy is not cis and some form of nuerodivergent eith some implied synesthesia thrown into the mix somewhere. There are also instances of self harm, dysphoria, and implied trauma based touch aversion, so be careful y'all. Also unbetad so feel free to point out any errors I may have missed.

The cold seeps into your bones after a while. 

It's not an age thing, he's sure, so much as it's a time thing; how long did you spend with your head underwater over whether you were of legal age. Luckily for Jeremy, he doesn't dip in until he's the ripe age of twelve and doesn't go slowly either, doesn't dip in his toes or just try to breathe it either one; instead, he slips into the basin of ice and stays there and he feels himself grow numb, feels the breaths beneath the surface become accustomed to the ache in his lungs of the almost oxegyn but not quite. He feels his chest heaving as he wades through the liquid and the people, feels the hairs on his arms stand up like they're weightless from the water and the edge it causes. He's constantly drowning, what once was a basin promising temporary safety now being an ocean that needs not a creature to pull him down; the weight on his shoulders, his head, his ankles, it is far greater than what he needs to keep him anchored far below the fresh air he still desires despite himself. 

Then he finds them; two boys, one with the universe in his eyes and another with fire in his lungs, and while they both have each one favors one or the other, Matt desiring to create and Trevor desiring to speak what has been created into existence. And so he fights the sludgy mesh he finds himself in if only to know the heat of their smile, the warmth of their hearts, even if he knows that there's cold in his lungs and in his bones and it has consumed whatever warmth he may have had to offer them in return, even if he knows the fire will burn his freezing body. He would gladly play with the scarred skin to have any idea what it's like to know and love them. And oh, does it burn. He is chained by the weight, has to try so much harder than at the beginning to see whatever awaits him outside. (And it is whatever is outside, he knows: he can't recall what it felt like to see unrippled light or whatever else may be waiting outside.) When he breaks the surface, he breathes the genuine oxegyn that doesn't fill his lungs with cold and hurt and resignation, and it /aches/. He almost yearns to submerge again simply to rid himself of the fire he's sure is clawing it's way in to him, but he /needs/ them, on some primal level, so he wades to the shore. 

He introduces himself with his name, which sounds redundant and ridiculous in his own mind but he knows that to have his name is a blessing, to know he has a meaning and it is self defined is a miracle. He is, however, also starkly aware of the wrongness settled deep inside his chest and the offness of his voice and the odd tilt of his natural posture. His name contrasts all of this: his name is that of him, and although it, too, carries the icicles of anguish, it is a good reflection of him, so he offers it to the them with gracious hands. They seem not to notice it's value to him, which is oddly joy inducing.

When they touch him, though, it is nothing like the burn of the air replenished. It feels like he is in lava, a stark contrast to the cold he has always preffered. The warmth tries to burn it away, tries to leave him without the ache and the weights and hurt, but he knows that it is as much a part of him, now, as his name is, and he's terrified to be left without the comforting nothingness he carries like a safety blanket. But still, he says nothing, and so they touch him, and they try to warm his heart like many before them, (doctors and "parents" and foster siblings,) but they don't abandon him when the weight stays, don't leave him to the wolves when he inevitably gets dragged back down again. Instead, they just wait at the shore for him to reach again, extending their fire embroidered hands for him to take when he's ready. They don't fully understand, he doesn't think, but if anyone ever could it would be them, and they don't try to pull him back until he's ready, don't try to burn him into what they want, and that's more than enough for him. 

They help him take care of the weight, don't try to take it but instead just shoulder it with him, and they help with the cold not by burning it into nothingness but by offering the warmth that he sometimes takes and sometimes can't stomach. They even help with the wrongness that he desires so heartily to fix, wants so heavily to make his chest feel like the dripping sunset of his name. They know a doctor, Caleb, and he works his magic and then Jeremy feels the lightest he ever has and his boys gladly take care of him while he's down and Jeremy absolutely and fully cries once they're alone, holding them close and whispering thanks they don't think are warranted. ("We're just doing what somebody should have done for you years ago, Jeremy; you don't have to thank us for loving you," Trevor had said, once.) They admire the scars once they're healed, and they help him get fake documents, and they do love him, and he's ecstatic. The icicles that drip from his name are still present, (and he knows they tint the sunset with blue and with dark purples but it's still beautiful to him,) and the weight at his wrists is ever present, but the one at his chest is gone and he can breathe without feeling the ache of every breath. 

He still gets dragged into the ocean of deep purple and blue, still has bad days where he aches for his hair to be shorter shorter shorter, and where he tries to tear the weight from his wrists manually, but he can wade through the shallows so much quicker when he knows that his boys wait for him, knows he doesn't have the ache of breathing ever present outside of the pool.

They also love his hair and love the way he smothers it in dye, but they don't try and touch it simply because he asks them not to. They love his wrists and the scars he has littering them, but they don't try to guilt him into feeling bad for them or trying to fade them. And when his chest still felt heavy, they loved that, and they would lay on it and assure him that they loved him but they would never mention it or the way he never let them see him shirtless. That issue is null and void, and still, unless he initiates it they don't ever talk about the scars, and unless he takes it off first they never mention the shirts he wears even while swimming. They love him, and they don't love what he could be; they love him for all his issues and quirks and bone deep hurt, not in spite of them. They want to help so that he can be happier, not so they can get through this and have a perfect person, and he loves his boys so, so much. 

When he comes home with a shaved head, which is something he's itched to do for ages but wanted to dye it more at the time and also didn't fully grasp that they would hold him even if they thought he looked hideous, which they don't, he's learned by now to trust them. So he, surprisingly enough, isn't surprised too much when Trevor just looks up over his coffee with a fond tug at his lips and a fond lilt to his tone as he mentions he looks good like an old man, and he isn't entirely surprised when Matt makes a crack at how he could see himself in the reflection but looks back from making breakfast to make sure he isn't crossing the line.

The best part is that they still don't touch it. He thinks they suspect the instigator might have been one too many assholes not feeling the need to ask before running their hands through his colored tufts, and they would be right, but they still don't touch it because they know he doesn't like it and even if it wouldn't bother him near as bad it would still /bother/ him and that's enough to listen to him. The best part is that they don't take advantage of his coping mechanisms to get in touches he knows they crave, and the best part is they shower him in love even when they can't do it conventionally and even when he can't reciprocate it in the same touch.

When they have to pick a heist outfit, one for the Fakes and one that screams their names, Jeremy picks one that shows the sunset of his own, shows the burning orange light peaking through an ocean of deep purple anguish, shows the shore he waded for ages to reach, shows the icicles hanging from his entire being and still shows the warmth he has been gifted. The others will all fake vomit at the combination, but Matt will make a joke about being glad Trevor's color blind while grinning because he just knows how important this is to their boy, and Trevor will mock faint at the cowboy hat he dons and claim he must have lied and must be from the South instead of the East, while Jeremy himself proudly wears something that feels more like him than anything he's ever felt does, and all the while knows that his team loves him not in spite of his fashion choice, but, to an extent, because of them.


End file.
